


Different Stripes

by Orange_Clown



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Chara, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Just trying to explain canon to myself, Legends, Speculation, Symbolism, shirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Clown/pseuds/Orange_Clown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yo! You're a kid too, right? I can tell 'cause you're wearing a striped shirt."</p>
<p>On reflection, that’s a rather odd sentence, isn’t it?</p>
<p>But in the end, this is not a story about a shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Stripes

**Author's Note:**

> Random thing written in about an hour because I started wondering just why every single child character was dressed so similarly. Un-betaed, so please tell me if there are any glaring errors.

The villagers around Mount Ebott had many tales of the monsters that were trapped beneath the surface.

This was to be expected, as tales of monsters were far better than tales of what happened That One Thursday We All Got Very Drunk And Then Drank More.

There were the usual tales - monsters were bloodthirsty beasts that lurked in the dark, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting traveler, that there were certain talismans and rituals that one could perform to keep them at bay, and that they were the creation of the devil themselves.

They were… rather boring, truth be told.

Oh, the stories entertained the children and caused the more timid adults to make a sign to ward off evil. They were definitely fun to tell around the campfire in the twilight but- well, they were nothing special. Similar tales could be found around the world with a thousand tiny variations. The monsters went by different names and some were definitely human, but the core truth was the same.

It was the smaller tales that lent interest to the stories - a dash of flavor, if you will. Something to distinguish them from the thousands of other tales told in thousands of other tiny towns.

There were many scholars who made it their life's’ work studying fairy tales and all of their iterations. Some of them had even come to Mount Ebott a time or two, wanting to get their facts ‘straight from the source’, as it were. They listened politely to the horror stories, dutifully taking notes and waited for the others, the ones that were told only when there was nothing left to speak off.

One of these was about clothing.

In particular, it was about a shirt.

Now clothing, too was a common theme in stories. Robes, crowns, hats and shoes showed up over and over again to impart qualities upon their wearer or to mark people of importance. The thing that baffled people was that in this particular story, the clothing did neither. It had no particular qualities. It did not make the wearer more powerful, more beautiful, or more intelligent. It was apparently common as dirt and royals wore no different than the commoners they ruled.

It was a striped shirt, and it marked the wearer as a child.

*****

_It must be said that much of the strife between humans and monsters was a lack of understanding between the two. The monsters could not understand the humans’ desire for power, or the fear they felt for the monsters. They could not understand why the humans feared magic and desired it so. Didn’t they have determination? Couldn’t they fight more effectively with their mundane weapons than any monster ever could with their fiddly magic? The monsters did not understand._

_The humans did not understand the monsters. What did they want? How could they use fight without putting their bodies in danger? What exactly was magic and how did they use it? How were they different? How were they the same? They could find no answers to their questions and so turned on them in fear._

_Beneath many of these misunderstandings was one truth. Monsters fought with their souls and humans fought with their bodies. Each race had developed the weapons needed to fight in their own way, and became so in tune with each that it was nearly impossible for one to learn the other. The monsters measured life in HP and humans measured it in blood. The healing of one could be poison to the other. And from this one truth grew a war._

*****

The tale goes something like this:

A long time ago, when the mountain was smaller than it was now, the town of Mount Ebott was only a tiny village, far from civilization. No one had wished to live so close to where the monsters were sealed, but there had always been people who felt that their duty was stronger than their fear and so had moved there with their families to guard the gate. Their descendants lived and died there and there had been no whisper from the monsters.

Until the famine started.

It had been a hot, dry summer. The air was dead, laden with a heat that burned the villagers and caused their animals to bellow from thirst. The crops refused to grow even in the meager shade that could be found, and the river dipped lower every day.

Normally this would not be a problem, as food storage would help them through the lean year, but this was the seventh year in a row of slowly worsening conditions. All of their storage was long gone and there were no other villages nearby to help out. Even the traders did not want to venture too close to the cursed mountain.

The more superstitious among them (of which there were many - they were there due to monsters out of ancient legend after all) felt that that was a particularly evil omen. The number seven (along with three and thirteen) was incredibly significant, they insisted. It was a checkpoint in their misfortune, the last chance to make it right - if the number reached 13 years, then they would all be done for.

Which was all well and good as a theory, but the villagers had no idea what to do to stop it.

They talked amongst themselves, worried and fought in their families. The rulers of the village grew more grim by the day, knowing that their people would soon tear each other apart.

When the agitation had reached its peak, a meeting was called.

The entirety of the village was packed into the hall. From the moment the first person arrived, questions were shouted at each other, then at the leaders. There was much talk about how someone oughta do something to stop the disaster and many fists were pounded on the table.

It was after everyone had screamed themselves hoarse that someone came up with the obvious solution.

The monsters had cursed them, and demanded a sacrifice for the curse to be undone.

*****

_Perhaps there really had been a curse. The final battle had taken place on the very ground where the village now stood, and bad memories bred discontent._

_Maybe the echoes of the deceased wished revenge upon their murderers._

_Maybe they knew that this chain of events would lead to their people being freed._

_Maybe they only wished to cause a little heartache, and didn’t expect what had happened._

_Maybe it was fate._

_Or,_

_Maybe it wasn’t ghosts at all._

_Maybe it wasn't fate._

_Maybe it was just bad luck._

*****

The leaders offered up their own child, their only child. They were stoic throughout the entire discussion, icy expressions giving nothing away. Whenever anyone tried to comfort them, or ask if there was really no other way, they always replied that it was their duty to protect at all costs. Nothing could give them greater joy than knowing that their child would save them all. No one could tell if they were devastated at the thought of losing their child…

Or ecstatic.

There had always been rumors, you see. The child had always been a little... off. They were tolerated well enough, but none were close enough to them that anyone would be unduly bothered by sending them away.

Really, it was the perfect solution.

Except for the fact that the child had no wish to die.

Under the cover of moonlight they slipped out of the house where their parents slept. Foolishly, they had been given no guard and it took no time at all for them to creep into the blacksmith’s silent forge.

After rummaging around in the dark for a few moments, they found where the weapons were kept. It took a few tries to find one that was both completed and that they could actually lift. To their displeasure, they eventually had to settle for a small knife that the apprentice had created as a training exercise. They took a long strip of bandage out of their pocket and carefully wrapped it up, using the long end to then wrap it around their leg, pinning the weapon to it.

They knew that they were to be delivered to the seal that separated the underground from the overground.

They planned to be prepared for it.

The elders dressed them in the traditional uniform of a young soldier. Shared memories were hazy, fogged with time and twisted from retellings but it was a fact that the new recruits always wore a shirt striped with the colors of their hometown.

This child was to be their warrior against the wicked ones that had cursed them, it was only right that they be dressed for the part.

And so the child was sent underground with the green of the plants they were meant to produce, the yellow of the flowers that were the village’s symbol and a knife strapped to their leg.

*****

_Throughout the years that they had been trapped underground, the monsters had come to - not accept, not exactly, but to deal with their fate._

_At their core, they were peaceful creatures. They hated injustice and loved peace._

_If someone was not seen to be a threat, then no one would attack them. It truly was as simple as that._

_Innocence was precious._

*****

The villagers had waited with baited breath for many seasons to see if their offering would be accepted. The weather had let up a little, but it was hardly the abrupt return to prosperity that the lifting of a curse would provide.

They had been a little nervous that they hadn’t done the correct thing, that their sacrifice was in vain and the curse would continue forever.

That was when the monster appeared.

*****

_Now we return to the beginning._

_Shirts gave no extra HP and no extra defense. They provided no help if their wearer were attacked, no matter what their particular fighting style. Wearing only a shirt was the height of foolishness, especially if they carried no weapon on top of it._

_(Weapons - tools - were given as coming of age presents.)_

_Traditionally, the only people who wore only a shirt were children. It was a sign of innocence, that the person was not old enough to fight and any who attacked them would be dishonored. The stripes were a relic of the oldest time, when clothing was limited and costly. For every year of a child’s life, another stripe would be added to the bottom of the shirt in the colors of their house or race._

_The humans observed this with bemusement but soon cottoned on the fact that anyone wearing a striped shirt would be left unharmed._

_It became a very useful battle tactic._

_In all of the resulting confusion, many of the old traditions were lost - colors lost their meaning, lines were no longer added, and over the course of the long war, many of the monsters had forgotten that original meaning was one of innocence. They could no longer afford to spare based on clothing alone._

_A child didn’t necessarily mean that they were innocent. And the monsters could no longer afford to take risks._

*****

When the tale is told, it usually ends there. The monster appeared with the dead child in their arms, a sign that the sacrifice had been accepted. The courageous villagers had attacked, but the monster just smirked at them and vanished, taking the body with them.

The leaders’ child never even had a proper burial. Their grave lies empty.

Yellow flowers cover it now and by the time the next child walked up the mountain, clad in an orange-striped shirt, they never even knew that they had walked over their predecessors grave.

The shirt is rarely even mentioned. It was already a relic of a long-bygone war when the child was first dressed in it. Why should anyone bother when there were far more interesting things to remember?

It is only when the old folk begin to rattle off a list of good-luck charms against the creatures that lurk in the shadows that it’s mentioned at all. _Yes, didn’t you know? Whenever a sacrifice is needed, they are dressed just as the first. How was the first dressed. Ignorant child. Why here’s a picture, passed down from my great-grandparents from their grandparents…._

It’s rarely mentioned, but somehow everyone knows about it.

*****

_The story changes in telling._

_The gender of the child is lost to time. Some insist that the child must be male, because they are wearing trousers and since it was so long ago- You know people aren't as open-minded as they are now! Others insist that the child must be female, because it’s always maidens that are sacrificed to the monsters, right? It just wouldn't be right, otherwise_

_Others say it doesn’t really matter at all, especially since it was just a dumb story. What, do you think that monsters are actually_ real _? You_ do _know what year it is, don’t you?_

_Sometimes the story is bloodier, told to satisfy jaded teens who felt they were too old for stories, and tells how the child stormed into the underground with weapon in hand, eyes burning red. They slaughtered all of the monsters in their path, no matter what lies they told to try and sway the child to pity. Monsters were liars. In the end, they mastered the magic the monsters held selfishly close and purged the underground, saving humanity once and for all._

_Sometimes the story is softened. The child wasn’t sacrificed. They had wandered up the mountain and accidentally fell down. They were rescued by a prince and adopted by the royal family. They brought peace to the fairy-land and ruled it well and wisely alongside their foster-brother, trading old, worn shirts for the robes of royalty._

_Sometimes the changes accidentally told the truth._

_But that’s a story for another day._

*****

In the end, Frisk had chosen the shirt for luck and for courage. It had been a favorite made by a long-deceased grandparent that had whispered stories whenever the two had managed to steal a few moments alone. There was nothing to lose now, but…

Maybe there was little bit of truth in the dusty legends that surrounded the ancient Mount Ebott.

There had to be.

*****

_Open..._

_Loading..._

_New Game?_

_Name the Fallen Human._

~~CHARA~~  FRISK

_Starting Game..._

**Author's Note:**

> I am now officially issuing a challenge. I call it "The Kids in the Striped Shirts" challenge. I have written a possibility as to why they all wear similar things, but I would love to hear your take on it!


End file.
